


Hunting with an idiot and a fool

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Sad Michael, Set after Did Somebody Say Yoga?, Soft Trevor, They love each other, Which Means Animals Being Shot, but nothing descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: “Eh, I wasn’t all that interested in killing animals in the first place.”It sounded like a confession, one that had Michael confused. He shifted uneasily, meeting Trevor’s eyes over the low flames.“Huh? Why’d we go hunting, then?”“‘Cause I wanted to spend time with you, obviously! God, you know, sometimes you’re a bit thick, Michael.”Or; Michael drinking himself into oblivion because his wife and kids left him. Trevor rings him up and tells him they're going elk hunting. Happy reading!
Relationships: Michael De Santa & Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	Hunting with an idiot and a fool

Michael stalked closer to the elk, crouched over to minimize any noise, moving behind bushes and trees to avoid being seen. Soon enough, he found himself feet away from his target. He steadied his rifle, locking onto the animal’s cardiovascular organs, and took a deep breath, moving his finger to the trigger…

Only to lose his footing and wobble backward, stepping on a twig and announcing his position to the elk, that turned its head to look in his direction, ears perked up. But it didn’t have much to worry about, as Michael continued his streak of fuck-ups and managed to fall back straight down into a hole.

* * *

Just a few hours before this, Michael was attempting (and failing) to drown himself in booze, strewn carelessly over his expensive couch in his fancy house, drinking everything and anything he could find. He thought that best-case scenario was he’d die from alcohol poisoning. He didn’t get very far in his ritual of self-hatred, however, as his phone’s ringing forced him to put the half-empty wine bottle in his hand away. Amanda would be so pissed, were she to come back, to find out Michael had been raiding their alcohol cabinet.

Michael didn’t as much as look at the caller ID before bringing the phone to his ear.

“Mikey! You’re still alive, that’s good. I need you for something,” a sharp voice called, with no less murderous intent than usual.

Michael sighed, rolling his eyes. He was far too drunk to cope with this man’s antics, and yet not drunk enough.

“Well, of course m’ alive. What else would I be?”

“Oh I don’t know, I figured you’d be drinking yourself stupider than you already are, feeling sorry for yourself or something,” Trevor snickered, and Michael winced.

His psychopath of a best friend knew him too well. It was almost unsettling.

“Whatever the favor is, m’ not doin’ it, T.”

There was a brief silence following his words, but it felt decades long. Michael reached for the bottle of wine he left on the coffee table again, thinking that he needed to be number for this conversation.

“Holy shit, I was right on the money, wasn’t I? You’re wasted! Well, it’s not a _favor_ , don’t worry your pretty head about that. It’s more of an invitation if you will.”

“I have t’ go, don’t I?”

“Oh, you definitely do. But hey, don’t look at it as a punishment! Look at it as your dearest friend dragging you out your misery for a few hours and taking you into the wilderness to shoot some innocent animals!” Trevor half-yelled, excitement bleeding through his voice, and that was a rare occurrence.

Michael paused, the bottle’s mouth an inch from his own, as he considered his options.

On one hand, a distraction would do Michael good. He’d been cooped up in his house for days on end now, waiting for his family to come back and completely uncertain if they would. He could use a break, a chance to get away from his loud, self-deprecating thoughts for a while. On the other hand, this meant he had to sober up, go outside, and deal with Trevor Phillips.

“Weee-eeell? Don’t keep me waiting. I’ll even bring hot dogs if you come! You know you want to, Sugartits,~” purred the man, sending a cold shiver down Michael’s spine.

He’s asked Trevor to lay off with that nickname for over a year now, but Trevor clearly wasn’t listening.

Nonetheless, Michael knew he was fucked. He’s gotta learn how to say no. But that would have to wait for another day.

“Fine. Gimme half an hour to sober up at least.”

“Water, Mikey, the water’s your friend. One of the only ones you have.”

“Screw you.”

* * *

And so, thus would count another day where Michael gave in to his best friend’s advantages. He’d done what Trevor had so generously told him, drank a ton of water, and taken a cold shower, and that seemed to help him get back on his feet. An outfit change and a couple of minutes glaring at his own reflection in disappointment later, Trevor had occupied Michael’s driveway with his massive, ugly, red truck and was honking for Michael to get down.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’. You better make this worth my while," Michael grumbled that last part to himself as he climbed into Trevor’s truck, only for Trevor to scoff because of course, he heard him.

“Well, whether or not we get any kills is on you too, Sweetcakes. But yeah, I’ll make it worth your while.”

That paired with the suggestive raise of eyebrows from Trevor had Michael frowning, thinking that this would be a long day. He rolled his eyes.

“I hope you brought weapons.”

But half of that fell on deaf ears as Trevor cranked up the volume on the stereo, chaotic music blaring from the speakers and drowning out Michael’s words entirely.

“Sorry, what was that?” cooed Trevor, lowering the volume just enough to hear Michael, who drew an exasperated sigh.

“ _Guns_. Did you bring ‘em?”

“Oh yeah, I got four of those babies.”

He gestured to the backseat with a jab of his thumb, where Michael could only see half the amount of rifles.

“And the other two?”

“Right here.”

Trevor flexed his biceps, kissing one of them as he simultaneously dodged cars on the road, driving out of the city. Michael thought he might have to strangle Trevor before they were done.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s the kind of semi-confidence I want for hunting, M!”

* * *

They passed Sandy Shores in no time with how fast Trevor was whistling down the highway, his speed concerning to most but not Michael. The faster they got there, the better, after all. And thank God they reached the woods soon enough, because Michael didn’t think he could handle Trevor’s scream-punk much longer. They hopped out of the truck, grabbing a rifle each, and Trevor stopped in front of the entrance to the forest, taking a deep breath in and letting it out.

“Ahhhh. Old mother nature. Isn’t she beautiful, Mike?”

“It’s a damn forest,” replied Michael, moving past Trevor into the woods, and the criminal chuckled, following into step behind him.

“Ever the charmer. You know how to hunt now, do you?”

“Nope. Don’t know a thing.”

No point in pretending to either, Trevor’d see through that shit in a second. He cleared his throat, shouldering Michael to get ahead of him on the narrow path.

“Maybe let the experienced one lead, then? Bet this ain’t the first time you’ve heard that,” smirked the bastard, causing color to raise high on Michael’s cheeks like he was a teenager again.

See, the thing with Trevor is he’s crazy unpredictable. He’ll do or say shit you wouldn’t think of in a million years. And Michael supposed that was part of why Trevor always persuaded him to do stuff with him. Because Michael liked the thrill of it.

“You’ll learn quickly though, hunting ain’t as complicated as they want you to think it is. Now, this-…”

Trevor flashed him what looked like a green mint and Michael’s brow shot up.

“... is an elk whistle. I’ve only got one though, so unless you wanna trade spit with me, this one’s mine.”

“Keep it," countered Michael with, grimacing at the other’s crudeness.

Trevor laughed at his outburst, turning around again to pay attention to his surroundings.

“Alright, so the first rule is to be quiet. No small talk, no complaining, just keep your eyes peeled for any sign of movement and stay aware of your own. The elk’s sense of smell and hearing are sensitive as shit, so y’ know… you’re fucked in the smell-department, but at least you can do something about that yapping mouth of yours.”

 _Jesus, how many insults is that in one sentence?_ Michael couldn’t help but laugh, only he _did_ lower his voice when speaking, following Trevor’s advice.

“Are you saying I stink? ‘Cause you don’t exactly smell like a basket of roses yourself.”

They shared a laugh, light and easy. Then, Trevor stopped in his tracks, raising his hand in the air as to tell Michael to shut up, and Michael almost walked into him.

“Shh! Ya see that? That’s a big one, Mikey. Don’t fuck this up.”

Michael peeked over Trevor’s shoulder to see what he was talking about and sure enough, there was an elk not far away from them, undisturbed by their presence. Trevor went into a sneaking stance, bending his knees slightly and staying close to the ground, and Michael mirrored him, clutching the rifle closer to himself.

“You want _me_ to get it?”

“You know how to handle a gun, don’t you? You’ve got this,” he encouraged him, patting him on the back, and that’s probably the nicest thing Trevor’s done/said to him in a while. Which says a lot.

So Michael muscled through his ever-present anxiety and maneuvered his way closer to the prey until he got a clear shot. Then, aiming right at the elk’s chest cavity, he pulled the trigger, and the elk fell to the ground with a shriek.

“See? You’re a natural!” applauded Trevor, and Michael was oddly proud of himself. He’s never been hunting before, but it turned out not to be all that difficult.

He shouldn’t jinx himself though, he thought when they heard another elk call from further away.

“Music to my ears, we’ve already got another one on our tail. So, the only real rule with elk hunting is that we don’t shoot the females. I don’t know, just something Cletus said.”

And that made perfect sense. _How else would the species stay alive?_ Michael chose to be silent about that since no one liked the company of a smartass. The company of a good shooter, though...

“Okay, well, should we split up?”

“Yeah! _Now_ you’re getting into it, Mikey-boy! You’ve got that one, but don’t stray too far.”

“Roger that.”

* * *

Michael _did_ roger that, staying in sight of his psychotic best friend while stalking closer to the elk they heard before. But it was with this elk that he tripped over his own feet and fell down into a large hole. It wasn’t very deep, but Michael had the luck to land on a sharp rock that ripped up the skin on his calf with a sickening sound. A pang of pain exploded through his leg and sent waves out to his very fingertips and Michael cried out in torment.

“Michael! Are you _trying_ to scare the elk away?! ‘Cause that’s no fucking mating call as far as I-”

Trevor’s head popped up from the edge of the hole, framed by pinched brows and a snarl crossing his features, but his expression quickly morphed into one of humor when he scanned the situation at hand.

“You absolute idiot, oh my god,” he breathed before doubling over laughing, his hands on his knees as he wheezed in spiteful joy, and Michael really wished he’d fall into the hole, too.

“Thanks, T. So nice to have friends that care about me.” 

“Oh I’m sorry, lemme rephrase myself; are you okaaay?” whined Trevor rather than asked, sarcasm dripping off his tone, and Michael was fuming.

“ **DOES IT FUCKING LOOK LIKE I’M OKAY, T?!?!** ” yelled Michael back.

He swore that once he got out of this pit, Trevor was dead. The man did seem to have a change of heart after seeing Michael wince when he prodded at his wound, though.

“Well, I-... just hold on, I’ll get you outta there.”

 _Thank the fucking lord._ Michael saw Trevor disappear but was more worried about the way his leg felt as if it was being turned inside out, rather than his best friend leaving him out here. He practiced some deep breathing, thinking back to yoga time with his (ex?) wife, and soon enough, a rope end was tossed down to him. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed onto it, trying his best to ignore the pain as he hoisted himself upward.

“You brought a rope with you?”

“I did. In case of clumsy fatasses.”

“Hah-fucking-hah,” Michael growled back.

When he reached the top, Trevor was there to pull him over the ledge to relative safety, and Michael instantly dropped down onto the ground, his leg preventing him from standing for too long.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, T,” he huffed out and leaned his sore back against a stump.

He noticed that Trevor was staring at him, looking a bit put out.

“What? It’s not like I’m dying, just give me a minute and I’ll be fine.”

The blood seeping from his wound and trickling down his leg, coating his sock and the moss beneath said otherwise. And so did Trevor, apparently, shooting Michael an unimpressed look before diving into his backpack to fish out a first aid kit.

“The hell you are. You’re bleeding like a goddamn pig.”

“If you insinuate that I’m fat one more fucking time-”

“Oookay, put your claws away for a second, tough guy. I mean no harm,” Trevor raised, with his hands up in defense before he squatted down in front of his hurt friend, prodding around Michael’s injury with deft fingers.

Michael jerked away from his touch, his entire face heating up.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _trust_ Trevor, or that he wasn’t hurting, but even the mere thought of having this guy patch him up had his heart racing in an odd way that he couldn’t begin to describe. This feeling had always been there and whenever it surfaced, Michael usually drank it away. He couldn’t very well just do that here, unfortunately.

“I said I’m fine, T. You don’t need to nurse me.”

“Shut the fuck up, De Santa. Or Townley, or whatever the fuck your name is. Just shut. Up,” Trevor spat between clenched teeth, already pouring antiseptic onto a cotton pad, and Michael obediently clicked his jaw shut, letting his friend do his thing.

It was a weird concept, ‘ _friends_ ’. This is what Michael chose to call Trevor, in his mind. Truth was, their relationship never came up in conversation. Because they don’t talk about their feelings. Because they’re _men_.

Michael knew he was a bit biased for thinking this way, but it was how he’d been raised. What society had decided for him.

Yet when Trevor kneeled between his legs, looking his wound over with uncharacteristically tender of touches and making all Michael’s blood run straight to his head (and maybe some other place, too), Michael couldn’t help but wonder if things would be different, weren’t they friends. And if other ‘friends’ did this with each other.

Trevor suddenly met his eyes, his looking unguarded despite his slight frown, and Michael exhaled a shuddering sigh.

“You’ve got some tough luck, Mikey. Landing on the only sharp thing in the hole.”

His voice was lowered, unfamiliarly soft. He elicited a small chuckle from Michael, whose head was swimming, because where the fuck did Trevor go? This man in front of him looked like Trevor, but he sure didn’t _sound_ like him. Michael wasn’t about to complain, though. If he could have five minutes with this man without him insulting him, he would die happy. Trevor showed Michael the antiseptic and held the cotton pad he’s soaked it in just above his wound.

“So, this is gonna hurt like a bitch. Just don’t fuckin' kick me in the face and I won’t have to murder you.”

 _Yup, that sounds more like Trevor._ Michael gave a slight smile, nodding, and so Trevor began cleaning his injury. Michael wasn’t prepared for just how much it was going to sting, and he flinched, cursing beneath his breath. Thankfully, Trevor kept whatever comments he had about Michael being a pansy to himself and focused on his doctoring role. Calloused fingertips ghosted the edges of his wound as he dabbed it with the antiseptic. His touch was maddeningly gentle.

“You still have _some_ luck, though. You won’t need stitches,” mumbled Trevor, and thank fuck for that.

He finished up quickly, and Michael almost wished it would’ve lasted longer. But now he was bandaged, and he flashed his friend a genuine smile of gratitude and warmth, one that hurt his cheeks. When was the last time he smiled?

“Thanks, T. You uh- you brought those hot dogs with you?”

And Trevor grinned.

“Hungry, are ya?”

“Starving.” 

* * *

It turned out that sitting around a campfire grilling hot dogs with your best friend wasn’t the worst of experiences, even when dealing with an injury. In fact, his leg hurt less with each passing minute, the food was just what Michael needed, and the company wasn’t half bad either.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a lot of hunting done,” apologized Michael from his side of the campfire, watching Trevor heat his hands up above the flames on the other, quirking a brow at him with an amused smile.

“Eh, I wasn’t all that interested in killing animals in the first place.”

It sounded like a confession, one that had Michael confused. He shifted uneasily, meeting Trevor’s eyes over the low flames.

“Huh? Why’d we go hunting, then?”

“‘Cause I wanted to spend time with you, obviously! God, you know, sometimes you’re a bit thick, Michael,” Trevor snapped with an eye roll, standing up from his spot to stare Michael down, who was at a loss for words.

Although Trevor was emotionally constipated and this could just be his way of showing his appreciation for his friend, Michael had a feeling that wasn’t all there was to it.

“Y’know, 9 years without seeing your dumb face is far too many. D’you have _any_ idea how hard it was to try and replace you?!” yelled the man, pacing back and forth around the campfire now, clearly getting worked up.

And Michael couldn’t blame him for still thinking about Ludendorff and where they both wound up after that. Hell, _he_ still thought about it some nights, when his conscience was eating away at him. But Trevor phrased things in the weirdest ways sometimes.

“ _Replace_ me?”

“I thought you were **dead**! I needed to fill that space _somehow_! But no one was good enough. ‘Cause as miserable as you are, there’s only one of you,” he finished, stopping dead in his tracks right in front of Michael, who felt like he’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer.

He blinked, opening his mouth and closing it again like a gaping fish in need of water. He couldn’t find the words, _any_ words. Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose, squatting down to face Michael properly.

“Okay... Lemme say it in a language you can understand, yeah? And listen real good now.”

Michael listened.

“I like you as much as you like your quiet evenings at home, undisturbed.”

And there it was. 20 years of friendship (that you can barely call a _friendship_ , really) over. Just like that. Michael _knew_ Trevor knew. The man wasn’t stupid. But there was still fear in his eyes, that flitted anxiously between Michael’s, trying to scan him for some sort of response. What Michael had to offer him, shell shocked, was an exhaled “Oh”.

“Fucking ‘oh’ is right. Now what’re you gonna do about it?” challenged the criminal, a cocksure smile on his face like he already knew what Michael was gonna do about it, despite his eyes saying the opposite.

Well, it’d be rude of Michael to keep him waiting…

“You stupid fucking- come here.”

Throwing caution to the wind and driven on autopilot by the overwhelming amount of emotion and want, Michael yanked a hold of Trevor’s collar and crashed his lips against his, determined to kiss the bastard senseless.

 _Finally_ , Michael’s mind screamed, in a state of euphoria as Trevor hummed against his lips, straddling Michael’s lap and raking his fingers through his hair, just about as rough and uncoordinated as you’d have expected from him. And Michael fucking loved it, responding with just as much enthusiasm, his arms wrapping tight around the man’s waist, clutching onto him as if he could disappear at any given moment.

Trevor wasted no time keeping it PG, deepening their kiss by delving his tongue into Michael’s mouth and it was _too_ good, but Michael still couldn’t get enough, cupping Trevor’s face in his hands like he was the most precious thing in the world. Which honestly, was too close to the truth to ignore.

Two things Michael found out about Trevor that day was that he tasted of whiskey and spice and that he made the most delicious sounds when Michael bit his bottom lip or kissed his neck. One thing Trevor finally got to hear from Michael when they eventually managed to part from each other, was that Michael loved him too.


End file.
